Alive
by HRFan
Summary: Set immediately after 9.8...some hope!


6

**Alive**

**ALERT MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 9.8 WITH A GOOD DOSE OF SPECULATIONS!**

**I can't stop myself from writing at the moment….largely to protect myself from what I fear will happen on Monday night…**

**Thank you so much for the reviews…they make it all worthwhile.**

**HRF.**

The Grid is empty and dark, save for one desk. He should have known that she would be there – that she would disobey his instructions, conveyed via Dimitri, to go to one of the safe houses and wait there for someone to pick her up. Correction – he did know, and that's why, if he is honest with himself, he's here instead of recuperating at home after his ordeal.

She rises as soon as he enters the Grid. In the dim light of her work lamp, her skin is translucid, her eyes luminous, and she's never been as beautiful to him.

'Harry…what…can you tell me what happened?' she asks tentatively.

As he gets near her he notices the dark circles under her eyes, the fine lines worry, her shaky hands. 'Did Beth not ring you?'

'She only said that Lucas'…John's… helicopter had crashed…that you'd explain.'

'6 seconds after take off.'

'But….how? You can't have had the engine doctored,you wouldn't have had enough time…'

'Correct. But I guessed h'd order one. I had an elite army sniper positioned two miles away. All it took was a carefully placed bullet.'

'Two miles?', she whispers, 'but….but that kind of distance, it's never been done before and….'

'It had to be far enough that he wouldn't see him with naked eyes. I knew he didn't have the kind of binoculars he would need to spot him at that distance.'

His tone is flat, his face expressionless, he feels detached almost, removed from the scene.

She sits down heavily, paralysed almost by his demeanour. 'And…and Albany?'

'Destroyed in the crash. Its secrets are safe.'

'But Harry…you had no way of knowing for sure that…'

'That the sniper would succeed? No, I had no way of knowing. I took a chance.'

'But if it hadn't worked out…'

'If it hadn't worked out then John would have got away with it, and I would definitiely have been charged with treason. As it is….I'll get a hefty slap on the wrist and won't make it to DG. Big deal. Look, you've been through a lot today. Why don't you go home and …'

She holds her hand out to him, half hoping he will take it. He doesn't. 'No. Please. Can we talk? please…you risked everything to get me back, Harry.' Her voice breaks. 'Can we…?'

'What would be the point, Ruth?', he asks tiredly. 'What would be the point of you telling me that I did the wrong thing? That national security is more valuable than one life, even _your _life? That in our job we are nothing but work? That we aren't supposed to feel, to grieve, to….all that b…t which you don't even yourself believe in anyway…' He shakes his head. 'What's the point', he repeats, with traces of anger this time.

'I wouldn't say that', she whispers. 'I know I said the other day that you'd be wrong to protect me as I thought you were protecting him…And after getting that letter from Cyprus, and…Deery I...but…'

'But what?', he challenges her. 'Look. I didn't risk everything for you today to atone for George's death and the loss of Nico. Or to pay the debt I owe you for saving me four years ago. And I don't need thanks. I don't expect you suddenly to fall into my arms in undying gratitude and frankly, not only do I not expect it, I have no hope left on that count anymore. But you're one of three…' He stops, almost overcome by emotions. 'You're one of three people I would have done that for. The others are my daughter, who emails me about three times a year, and my son, who can't bear to be in the same room as me. I'm not feeling sorry for myself here. God knows I deserve their anger. And yours too for that matter. I did it because I love you and because I draw the line at sacrificing the life of people I love, whatever _they_ might feel for me. Now, if you don't mind, I have to go and write my report. Take tomorrow off. I'll need you back here at 8am the day after.'

He walks to his office, ramrod straight, refusing to turn back and give her one last glance. He draws the blinds down, clearly shutting her out, and collapses in the corner sofa, hands shaking, his legs giving out under him. He closes his eyes, trying to block out the sound of the helicopter exploding, the sheer terror he felt when he thought John would kill him there and then in cold blood, desperate for peace, and quiet, and sleep…when the door opens, without a knock.

'For God' sake!', he roars, on his feet in a second, anger finally overwhelming him, 'when will you learn to bloody knock! And didn't I just tell you to…' He stops and takes one good look at her. Her eyes are dark pools of uncertainty filled with tears. 'I'm sorry. But there's something I want to say. About what happened today', she whispers. 'If you don't want to hear it, that's fine, I'll go now and won't ever try to say it again... But…'

He rubs his face. 'I told you, I don't need thanks. I'm not sure I even want them, to be honest. Look…'

'Do you want _me_?' she asks tremulously.

He stares at her in disbelief. 'Are you _offering_ yourself as…what kind of man do you think I am?'

'No!', she half shouts. 'Of course not! It's not like that! How could you even…how can you even suggest that I might think so little of you that…' She takes a deep breath. 'When I realised you'd given him the file…I got so scared for you. Of what the Service would do to you. The disgrace. The loss of everything you'd worked for…I know what that's like, you see. And I couldn't believe you'd do it. I…'

'I'd told you before I would', he cuts in. 'And I can't win on that one, can I…either you'd believe me and condemn me for it, or not believe me and push me away for being unable to protect you. I can't fight this, fight you any more, Ruth…I've had it. There're only so many kicks I can take and…'

'But I'm trying to explain how I…what I…' – she says in a trembling voice, desperately trying to hold on to her self-control. 'I'm trying to tell you that I lo…'

'Go', he says abruptly , 'just go…neither of us is in any shape or form to…go. Please.'

She steps away from him, face stricken with pain, deathly white, and turns round, grabbing her coat and bag, not looking back at him, and makes her way out to the Grid as quickly as she can, blinded by tears. She doesn't notice the puzzled glances of other late-nighters as she somehow find her way to the lift, she doesn't hear the concerned voice of the staff at the entrance desk, she doesn't feel the penetrating cold of the autumnal night, she doesn't notice the crowds of people milling around London as they always do no matter what…all she knows is the pain which is knifing her into two halves…

He watches her go, steeling himself against the sight of her distress, gripping the back of his chair to make himself stay where he is and not run after her, clenching his teeth against the threat of tears – until what he did not let her say fully finally registers. He swears at himself and runs, not bothering to switch off the lights. By the time he arrives downstairs, she's already left the building, so he runs out, cursing himself for being so out of shape, the trauma of the day catching up with him. He catches a glimpse of her at last, hunched forward, near her bus stop. And so he runs still, somehow finding last reserves of strength to get to her before she can board the rapidly approaching bus.

He puts his hand on her arm, incapable of speech. She turns around sharply. 'What…Harry?', she stutters.

He keeps his hand on her waiting for his breathing to calm down. She doesn't move away from him. She remains standing in front of him, her troubled, red-rimmed eyes searching his face for clues. 'What were you trying to say?', he manages at last. 'In my office. What were you…'

'That I love you', she says simply. Her tears gather again at the corner of her eyes. 'I thought you'd die, Harry. That he'd kill you. And I realised that I couldn't bear it, and that I wasn't dead inside. And I thought of all the time we've lost and wasted together…all my doubts, all my fears about us…they seemed so trivial somehow. So meaningless.'

He brushes her tears away with his fingers. 'And now?', he asks shakily, 'what do they seem like?'

She smiles slightly, apprehensively. 'Still trivial and meaningless.'

He takes one step towards her and crushes her to him, as tightly as he can without hurting her, his mouth in her hair. 'I'm sorry', he says, 'I'm so, so sorry for earlier…I just….'

She pulls away from him slightly and gently silences him. 'You don't need to explain', she says simply. 'I understand.' He kisses her cheek and slowly moves his mouth over hers, in light, feathery touches. Slowly his tongue meshes with hers, and the sheer shock of their rediscovery of each other after so many years leaves them reeling. 'I love you', he whispers against her lips. She holds on to him tightly. 'Do you have to go back to the Grid?'

'No. My report will wait. Ruth…'

'Yes?'

'There's a hotel round the corner. It's lovely. I often use it when it's too late for me to go home. They do food. They'll get us anything we need. Let me take you there. We can talk and eat and rest. Together. We don't need to do…to be…'

She smiles at him tenderly. 'What do you want to do tonight, Harry?'

He craddles her face in his hands. 'If I were thirty years younger or had had a different sort of day…you know what I'd want.' His eyes darken. 'As it is', he says wryly, 'all I want is eat something and rest with you. Together.' He strokes her cheek. 'I need to hold you in my arms. I need to know that you're here, with me, that it's not just a dream, that it's real.'

'I want that too'. She seals her words with her lips on his. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and flags down a cab, making arrangements quickly by phone, keenly aware of her body, her presence, her eyes, in the darkness of the car.

The hotel staff processes them swiftly, discreetly, providing toiletries and brand new night clothes, no question asked.

Later on, after a lovely and simple meal delivered through room service, they prepare for the night. There's no awkwardness between them, no tiptoing around each other as they take turn to use the bathroom. With a deep sigh of satisfaction, she curls up under the cover against him, her head in the curve of his shoulder. He rests his lips on her forehead briefly.

'Are you alright?', he asks.

'I'm in heaven', she murmurs drowsily. 'Harry…'

'What?'

'The hotel manager….is he one of our assets?'

He chuckles. 'Yes. I run him myself.'

'Do you think he thinks that we're…'

'Very probably. Do you mind?'

She grows thoughtful. 'Well, next time we come', she retorts playfully, 'we'll have to make sure that his…fantasies are true to reality.'

He guffaws. 'I'll hold you to that, Ruth…believe me, I will.'

She anchors herself to him. 'I'll look forward to it', she says softly, her voice full of promise, sleep slowly claiming her.

He lies still next to her, his entire body relaxing, the burden of the last four years easing at last, his breathing merging with hers, slowly allowing himself to surrender to sleep without letting go of her.. never letting go of her… never letting go,…never letting…never…..

THE END.


End file.
